Yesta Previously Darkest Dreams
by Boudicca Le Grave
Summary: FOR PREVIOUS READERS: LOTS OF NEW CONTENT ADDED PLZ REREAD! Artesmia longs for adventure but she has a promise that she can't break. What happens when that Obstacle in taken away? Rated M for Violence, language, and Sex R


A Darker Dream/Darkest Dream

_Heo naefre wacode degred  
To bisig mid degeweorcum  
Ac oft heo wacode sunnanwanung  
Donne nihtciele creap geond moras  
And on paere hwile  
Heo dreag pa losinga  
Earla pinga pe heo forleas.  
Heo swa oft dreag hire sawle sincende  
Heo ne cupe hire heortan lust._

_ -Helm's Deep  
_

* * *

A golden flame flickered in the dark, barely illuminating a be-gloomed room. The flame belonged to a short stump of a candle, bonded to a wooden table by long-hardened wax. The table was old, marked up by many years of use, veined with tiny cracks and rings which hinted the age of the tree from which it was cut.

A woman sat adjacent to it, staring into the grains of the slab of wood, as if to catch some hint, some secret life hidden within it. Her head was bowed to the table, hands spread wide upon its uneven surface, moving this way and that searchingly. The woman suddenly drew back, sucking on the side of her hand. With her other, she picked up an impossibly small bone needle with a piece of thread, barely a hair's breadth wide, trailing behind it. Unperturbed, the woman returned to haphazardly stitching together a worn grey tunic.

If Artesmia was known for anything, it was not for her sewing. She spent many hours of her day trekking the sloped, jagged plains between the borders of Rohan and the Brownlands, and often clambered atop large serrated rocks, which seemed to have thrust themselves forth from the bulk of the earth. Such adventures did not leave her unscathed; she came home with both slashes and bruises. Her tunics were proof of the abuse of the unyielding terrain of the land, for she made her home nearby the Anduin's South Undeep, and the nearest village which was large enough to make its appearance on a map was Edoras; or even perhaps the fortress of Helm's Deep. The coursing river, acting as a natural border between Rohan and the Brownlands, cut through a vast plain with teeth of rock jutting from large foothills (remains of ancient mounts long since crumbled). Not many ventured forth to cross the foreboding plains of the East and West Emnet, for the terrain was not the only obstacle. Beasts and ill-mannered men roamed both sides of the river, remnants of a darker, more desperate past which had not seen many years in its passing. Many folk were distrustful of travel and strange beasts; and they were even more so of the land itself.

Artesmia viewed the harsh landscape with different eyes. She enjoyed her detachment from the normal routine of ordinary men and women; she climbed rocks to shivering heights and explored the plains and gatherings of trees for pleasure and for food. Villagers toiled under the king's decree; working endlessly, sending sons and sometimes daughters into servitude of the riders of Rohan. Artesmia, however, rarely glimpsed another human being, and only travelled to Edoras to sell dyes she had brewed from herbs and other such things for food and coin. It was a voyage which took many a day, but travelling was the part of the trip that she most enjoyed.

Although she lived in solitude in her rickety stone and straw roofed home for many years, Artesmia was just discovering the lands about her. With all her desire for freedom and thirst for adventure, Artesmia also felt she had a duty towards keeping her home. Although it was old, and the constant duty of restoring it took days or more, she had promised years ago to never let the building crumble away. The very old edifice housed many good memories for her; memories she never wanted to lose.

Thatched with straw, the roof would lose its straw with every bad storm. She would have to journey into the untamed plains surrounding her home to pluck baskets of the stiff grass to repair it. Chores such as these would only make her long more for the freedom of the rolling plains; the wind in her hair, the yellow grass brushing her fingertips... But her promise butted shoulders with her desires.

Travelling to Edoras was a consolation of the constant push for exploration and a tamper on her urges to abandon her long-kept pledge. Although she enjoyed the long trek, she was becoming weary of the same road, the same rocks here and there; the diminution of that exuberant feeling one gets when they are doing something they enjoy greatly. A seed of a thought had begun sprouting in the back of her mind, one that wished for the company of others merely for the excitement. Sometimes, when she couldn't sleep, she would think of what it would've been like to have been the banished _Rohirrim_. She thought: how bad would it be, really, to spend your life in absolute freedom? How bad would it be to sleep under the stars, with your _roch _standing close by, to live forever by your own accord?

Artesmia had played with the thought of such freedom for many sleepless hours. Her dreams were filled with the folklore of the noble _Rohirrim_, and the freedom she thought they had enjoyed. Almost guiltily, she had thought to herself: how she would've loved to be a _Rohir_; riding, laughing with joy across the rolling _terra firma_.

The grass was soft, and glistened with dew in the moonlight. Sahdron, a chestnut horse of slight form, was fully adorned in aged tackle and stuffed satchels, and waited patiently for his rider to mount. The woman took a swift view of the land around her, before pulling herself up onto the horse's back using the horn of the saddle. The horizon gleamed burgundy-faded-to-navy, and was jewelled with shining silver stars like an expensive velvet cloak. The sun hid its brightness into the crook of the Earth's shielding embrace, and night had finally stretched over the sky like a blackened coverlet dotted with gems, and a moon like a round of fine _brie_ cheese.

Tonight, Artesmia would ride to Edoras. She had strapped pouches of herbs, dyes, and necessities onto Sahdron's saddle for her to sell later or for sustenance intended for the journey ahead. Shifting herself into a comfortable position on the saddle and spreading her cloak out behind her, Artesmia took one last look behind her. She stared at her home for a long moment, burning its image---and the oath she had made to it---into her brain. Thoughtfully she turned back, sighing, and clicked her tongue at Sahdron, who took his cue and started forward into a trot; kicking up clumps of fresh grass in his wake.

As both horse and rider mounted a small hill and came to a stop, a wind whispered past them; tickled the back of Artesmia's neck and tousled her auburn hair. A deep breath yielded a scent of mixed earth, grass, and dew. She threw her head back, and gazed at the stars above. A thought teased into the fore front of her mind. A taste of a _Rohir's_ freedom, she thought wistfully before the wind seemed to buffet her in response her ponderings. Artesmia glanced ahead, pushing away her thoughts, gazing at the horizon rimmed with a ridge of mountains before her. Again, the wind came, but this time it howled in her ear and tossed her hair wildly before the wind seemed to buffet her in response her ponderings. Artesmia glanced ahead, pushing away her thoughts, gazing at the horizon rimmed with a ridge of mountains before her. Again, the wind came, but this time it howled in her ear and tossed her hair riotously, shifting her in the saddle.

_GO! _It seemed to scream at her.

Artesmia clasped her reins with renewed enthusiasm for the voyage ahead, her brow furrowing, and a smirk on her face. _Alright_, she thought, _than I shall go_. With a whoop and a tap on Sahdron's sides with her heels, the horse took off in a mighty gallop down the hill, sending Artesmia's stomach into her throat and her heart even higher. Laughter and thunderous hooves filled the silent night.

She packed light and rode fast; she burrowed her face into Sahdron's mane and rested when she was tired, ate without dismounting; stopped at ponds to replenish her water supply and let the _roch_ drink, but carried on until she came upon the junction of the Entwash and the Snowbourn rivers before setting up camp. The exhaustion and weariness was apparent by the dark rings under her eyes, but Artesmia ate slowly and slept only when she finally passed out beside a dying fire. Sahdron lay down beside the woman, and each warmed each other in the chill of the night.

* * *

A rabbit crouched, ears flat, by a patch of savoury greenery; eating bits of it here and there. All was quiet, but the small animal paused and its nose twitched rapidly, eyes glazing in fear. There was a very long, silent moment before the rabbit snuffled and browsed among the grass again, flicking its ears.

Something cracked.

The rabbit jumped, eyes wide, ears pricking and swivelling towards the noise. A hand shot out from the darkness, seizing the animal by its neck. A triumphant howl resounded as the uruk who had grasped the struggling thing jumped to his feet and flashed a grin full of fangs.

"Oi, what you got their Vakgar?" An Uruk lumbered up beside the other uruk, Vakgar, who waved the frantic rabbit in front of his companion's face.

"Got myself some _Kunol;_ unlike you, snot-faced _zanbaur._" Vakgar snickered, phlegm gurgling in his throat.

"That's fine; I don't like my rabbit covered in shit anyway." The other replied with a sneer.

Vakgar examined his quarry, and found that the thing had been so scared it had shit down his leg and all over itself while they had been bickering. He growled in annoyance, squeezing the rabbit's neck till it hung motionless in his great hand. "Fuck that! I'm starving; this rabbit is mine shit or no shit."

Zguk, the uruk Vakgar had been taunting, grunted in reply, scratching the area under the front of his loincloth while pondering a berry bush nearby. He picked a large berry, and gummed it around in his mouth before spitting it out. "Ugh, fucking elf food, this is." He spat, wiping the stuff off his tongue by rubbing it with his arm. "I want some real meat... No shitty rabbits or elfing berries."

* * *

The river frothed and bubbled a warning as the first hints of morning light tinged the sky a contemplative reddish-purple. The smell of burning flesh hung in the air and dark smoke billowed from behind the cover of a formation of several large, craggy rocks. The carcass of a starved fawn roasted on a spit over a roaring fire, encircled by ravenous beast-like men who eagerly tore half-cooked flesh from it. They found comfort in the smell of burning, rotting flesh and acrid black smoke. The creatures were of an old evil, birthed to serve corruption. They were the uruk-hai, listless beings bred from man and orc; the perfect killing machines which hungered endlessly for violence and flesh. They scoured the empty plains for food, and to prey upon hapless travellers.

"Oi, Gorsnik! Leave some meat for us or we'll be roasting you like a pig next." An uruk-hai seethed, pulling another large uruk (presumably Gorsnik) from his feast on the fawn carcass.

Gorsnik growled, baring crooked incisors and spitting at the others. "I made the kill!"

The offending creature roared and squabbled in a harsh, obscure language, grappling for a place with the defending uruk-hai.

Another uruk-hai, larger and leaner than the others, wedged the two apart with a rock-hard shoulder, hissing and spitting and knocking them back. "Get back in place! There will be no shortage of meat if we move quickly."

A silence hovered over the ravenous uruks of the tribe; all eyes rested on the one who seemed to be the leader.

"A human female and her horse are nearby. We can capture her and slaughter the horse for eating. What say you, boys!"

A chorus of voices rose to rip the silence of the bare hours of the morning. It would be man and horse flesh on the menu for a couple of days at least; unless the pack gorged themselves heavily in a flesh-eating frenzy.

Lursak scratched his neck contemplatively, crouching on a rock overlooking the junction between Entwash and the Anduin. Water crashed and howled against the crumbling rocks of the shoreline and the "v" of the junction, spraying water up almost ten feet into the air. The current was strong here; the water whorled into frothy white whirlpools and "sucks" that could pull a sturdy raft beneath the foam without trouble. The uruk-hai would have to move further up the river to wade through it (there were no trees sturdy enough to lash into a raft) to get to their quarry. The uruk's voice rumbled deep in his throat as a growl. "Oi, let's get a move on maggots." He grunted, jumping down off the rock to pad along the shoreline of the river.

* * *

**Hey there. Thanks for reading (again?). I have rewritten the story thanks to "The Lauderdale"'s helpful advice, and have reposted it. As you may had read, i think the character is a little more solid. :) I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please feel free to review. And thanks to everyone who reviewed already :)  
**

**Here are some translations to the words used the in the story:**

_ROCH- Horse_

_Rohir- a rider of rohan_

_terra firma- latin for solid earth (basically)_

_zanbaur- elfson (orc insult, as they hate elves)_

___Kunol- rabbit_

___Translation of poem at the very top-_

_She never watched the morning rising,  
Too busy with the day's first chores,  
But oft she would watch the sun's fading,  
As the cold of night crept across the moors.  
And in that moment  
She felt the loss  
Of everything that had been missed.  
So used to feeling the spirit sink,  
She had not felt her own heart's wish._


End file.
